


Shifting Perspective

by SoraM



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraM/pseuds/SoraM
Summary: What happens after the final four words? Rory takes control of her life and plans for her future.





	1. Eight Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll preface this by saying a few things about my interpretation on the Fall episode of A Year in the Life. Mainly that I think that writing Gilmore Girls would have been a thought provoking and therapeutic experience for Rory - an experience that would have helped her think about the choices she’s made in that past, and inform future decisions. That being said, when she and Lorelei are sitting in the gazebo at the very end, I firmly believe Rory knows what her next move is with a clarity she hasn’t felt in years.

_ **November 8, 2016** _

 

_What if I didn’t want the ride to end?_

There. It’s sent, no taking it back now, even if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. If there is one thing that’s come from writing my story, unpacking my history, reviewing the choices that I’ve made - the reasons behind them and their consequences - it’s the realization that, perhaps, I need to let my heart lead just a little bit more and fight just a little bit harder.

It’s an interesting exercise, to look back at one’s life, analyzing experiences through a new and more seasoned lense. To understand my mother’s struggles and successes from the perspective of someone who has had fifteen years of advantages and opportunities that she did not, has given me has a new appreciation for the way she raised me, both how she managed it and the values she instilled.

My mother did the best she could to provide me with those opportunities she was never able to take advantage of and in many ways she succeeded, heroically.

For so long it was us against the world. But as a child grows, her world expands, and as my world expanded, my mother couldn’t quite manage to give me the freedom I needed, she didn’t want to be left behind and, in truth, I didn’t want to edge her out. She didn’t want to deviate from the plan. And I get it, the plan got me to Chilton and Yale, it set a course for my life that ensured that I would have what she did not - education and opportunities. But neither of us considered what would happen when the plan was realized, when I achieved those goals, when it was time for me to chart my own course without my mother.

_It’s only over if you want it to be. Just say the words and it never has to end._

I smile at his response, looking up from tea - a steaming cup of oversteeped Irish Breakfast, the bitterness almost standing in for my beloved coffee -  at the entrance to his office building. I’m standing on the edge of that scaffolding again, taking the biggest risk of my life, but I guess it makes sense, Logan always inspired me to throw caution to the wind.

_Meet me?_

Those aren’t the words he’s looking for, I want him to hear those words in person.

_When and where?_

_Across the street? Ten minutes?_ I type, my heart hammering in my chest, waiting for his response.

If I’ve timed it right - and if his Tuesday schedule hasn’t changed - I should be catching him at the perfect time, after his weekly meeting with the editorial staff and before his bi-weekly meeting with the new media acquisitions team. I’ve taken advantage of this break in his schedule more times than I care to admit, coming, just as I have today, straight from Heathrow. Most often telling him to meet at his townhouse, but occasionally I’ve surprised him in his office.

I can’t help but conjure the memory of the last time I did that, months ago by now, letting it flood my mind - me sitting on his desk, skirt around my waist and feet resting on the arms of the chair Logan is sitting in, his head between my thighs and his tongue doing wicked things - I hear the bell above the door chime, signaling a new customer. I don’t have to see to know its him, I can feel it when he enters the room less than five minutes after I’d hit send.

“Rory-“ he says, breathless.

I smile at him “What? Did you take the stairs Huntzberger? I gave you ten minutes, you didn’t have to run.” I chide him, keeping it light, trying to pretend that this isn’t out of the ordinary - two months ago it wasn’t - trying to keep the creeping awkwardness at bay.

He looks at me, dumbfounded, like he’s sure he’s seeing a mirage and I study him. It’s only been eight weeks since we said goodbye in New Hampshire - a goodbye I thought might stick, though fate had a different plan - and he looks different somehow, less polished around the edges. He isn’t wearing a tie and he’s got a well manicured but uncharacteristic scruff casting a shadow across his jaw, like he’s thinking about a beard but hasn’t fully committed. It’s curious, but he has an air of lightness and relaxation about him that I haven’t seen in at least a year, he looks more like the Logan I bumped into on the promenade in Hamburg.

I wonder what’s brought about this change, the recent end of our duplicity perhaps? What if I’ve miscalculated?

No. I remind myself, I’m here to make sure my child has something I didn’t, a healthy relationship with her (or his) father and if need be, I have a plan for us that isn’t contingent on Logan but leaves space for him, for contact and involvement.

He smiles at my lame joke, his eyes crinkle around the edges and sparkle. “Well I had to get here before you changed your mind and disappeared on me Ace.” He explains playfully, though his voice holds an edge of skepticism.

I smile at him, there’s no changing my mind, I need this man in my life, in whatever capacity I can have him. “I think I’m done with disappearing.” I tell him honestly.

“Is that so?” He asks gesturing to the counter, “well in that case, can I get you a refill?”

“I’m good on the coffee, but I wouldn’t turn down another scone.” I say with a smile.

I watch as he exchanges pleasantries with the waiter, a young guy in his late teens or early twenties, who suggests a chocolate chip scone as my last one was fruit. Logan casts a quick look back at me, cocking an eyebrow, clearly surprised I’d choose fruit over chocolate, before paying the cashier and rejoining me at the table.

“How long have you been here?” He asks as he sits down across from me.

I shrug my shoulders, “not long, but it took awhile to get here.” I tell him, knowing he’ll pick up on my double meaning. “I was too hungry to wait.” I add, picking at the new scone.

“Rory, why are you here?” He asks, his tone shifting to serious.

“Hugo reached out, looking to fill out his team covering Brexit and I offered my services, among other reasons.”

I can see a certain level of surprise dawn across his features, “so how long are you here for?” He asks, confusion and curiosity both present in his tone.

“It’s tough to say,” I tell him, “did you know seven hundred and fifty nine treaties need to be renegotiated for Great Britain to leave the European Union?” I say, sitting up straighter and leaning towards him.

“I’d heard it was more actually.” He tells me as his movements mirror mine.

“So, I guess it’ll take awhile.” I say quietly, smiling as I take a sip of tea. “You’re looking well by the way,” I add, “life agreeing with you?”

“It’s much improved recently,” he says, that smirk that dropped panties in college crawling across his face, “but there’s still room for further improvement.”

I feel my own smile slip, quickly, bringing my tea to my lips to hide it and  wondering if the improvement is his less complicated relationship with Odette. “How is Odette?” I ask, girding myself to explore my theory.

“She’s fine,” he answers, clearly surprised that I’ve brought her up, “still annoyed, but happy to be back in Paris.”

“Annoyed?” I ask.

“Wait, you don’t know?” he responds.

“Know what?” I ask, putting down the teacup that was halfway to my lips. “Fair warning, for the better part of the last eight weeks I’ve been holed up in Grampa’s study in Hartford furiously writing my magnum opus.”

He looks at me for a moment and there’s something in his eyes - curiosity or longing.

“What?” I ask, wanting to understand.

“Nothing,” he says, smile wistful as he shakes his head, “It’s just, that is the perfect place for you to write.” He pauses, looking down, and sipping his coffee. “How is that going?”

“Really well” I tell him, “I’ve got the first five chapters, and I’m shopping them around and another twelve or fifteen in process. I’m so glad I decided to do it, too.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Especially since your mother so against it. Does that mean she’s come around?”

“She’s trying to,” I explain, “but she won’t read it and I’m not sure how I feel about that, but maybe it’s for the best right now.”

“Why do you say that?” He asks, mild confusion furrowing his brow.

“It’s just been an interesting and revealing experience, thinking about things I haven’t thought about in years and analyzing them with a more critical eye, through the lense of adulthood. I think I've started to realize that, as special as our relationship was - and still is - it was anything but traditional and perhaps not the most healthy parent-child relationship.” I explain, pausing to sip my tea.

Logan stays quiet, but his eyes speak volumes about his thoughts. He agrees, though he’s never dare verbalize that opinion.

“I don’t think I ever realize how much my relationship with my mother held me back.” I continue, “Or - perhaps that’s not entirely fair. She did so much to make sure I was able to take advantage of the opportunities she wasn’t able to and I’m nothing but grateful for the life she provided for me and the relationship we have, but it was hard and she had to make some really tough choices and she was still just a kid herself, on her own with no guidance when she had to make them. I look back on that and I realized that of course she was more a friend than a parent, how could it have been different, she didn’t have the emotional maturity to be more of a parent, and there were consequences to that. There were so many times that I kind of had to step in and parent because she was dependant on me in ways that a parent shouldn’t be. How many times did I let a choice be informed by whether or not I was leaving my mother behind? And what have I missed out on because I was afraid to grow out of our relationship? How many times did she let me or even encouraged me to make those choices?

“Mothers need to know when it’s time to set their children free and mine never really did.” I say before sipping my lukewarm tea and taking a deep breath as he continues to watch me forehead creased in surprise. “But we did the best we could, she did the best she could all things considered and I don’t want to dwell on the past. I want to learn from it and move forward and do better in the future.” I finish. The future, where I will be a parent to my child first and a friend second. Supporting her (or him) as she chases her dreams and lives her life, allowing them to disregard my advice, take calculated risks and be there when they get hurt or heartbroken.

“Wow, Rory-“

“It’s been an enlightening exercise in self analysis to recognize just how much that relationship has affected me. And as much as I don’t want to dwell on the past I can’t help but wonder where I’d be, if I’d chosen differently, listened to my gut and not Mom, whispering in my ear at key moments in the past.” I pause, taking in Logan’s expression. It’s a mixture of sadness and hope and fear, but his eyes betray a much deeper emotion. He looks like he did that morning at the B&B.

He knows I’m referring to his failed proposal and while I’ll never regret saying no, I’ve come to regret letting him walk away. And I can’t help but wonder what our life would have been if he hadn’t walked away or if I hadn’t let him. In some ways I can’t imagine much would have changed, he wouldn’t have held me back from my first job on Obama’s campaign, though I could see him insisting I wear his ring while in the trail. And we’d certainly be married by now, maybe even with a kid. But past that, I don’t see history being substantially rewritten, I liked freelancing for a long time, I liked the opportunities it afforded me, the travel, the people I met, but it would have been nice to come home to Logan, to truly have the emotional stability we provided each other. Yes, the biggest change would be that we’d have had each other, we’d have been happy.  And that is bothe comforting and crushing.

“Rory, I-“ He starts only to be interrupted by the trill of the cell phone in his pocket. “Shit.” He exclaims under his breath as he extracts his phone from the inside of his suit jacket. “Shit,” he says again and I can’t help but smile.

“Take it, it’s fine.” I tell him.

“No, it’s my assistant, my next meeting is starting and I’m not there.” He explains.

“Then go. We can pick this up another time.” I assure him.

“When can I see you again?” He asks, eagerly.

“Whenever you’d like, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tonight? Dinner? Where are you staying?” He asks, all in a rush as he stands, straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket.

I follow his lead, “I’m staying at the Chesterfield, how about dinner at the King’s Arms? Seven o’clock?” I offer. The King’s Arms is little more than a classic English pub, nothing fancy, but I’m suddenly craving their mouth watering steak pie.

If he’s surprised by my suggestion he doesn’t let on, he smiles and nods his head as he leans in. “I’ll see you there at seven.” He says quietly as he palms my jaw.

His thumbs skims over my cheek gently as he draws me in, our eyes meeting briefly before he dips his head to the side, brushing his lips along the path his thumb just traveled before turning around and walking through the door.

* * *

I spend the rest of the morning and early part of the afternoon looking at homes with an estates agent that I’d spoken with last week. Hugo offered me corporate housing, but I didn’t want that, I want to make a home for my child not unlike the one I grew up in, rife with quirky character that exudes a lived in and loved in vibe. A place to make precious memories, but not so precious that we can’t embrace a bit of messy chaos that goes hand in hand with living a happy life and I knew I couldn’t achieve that in the banal austerity of corporate housing. I planned to use my inheritance from Grandpa to make the purchase, knowing I could easily support myself and my baby - though I doubt I’ll be the sole provider - with my salary from Hugo if I didn’t have the overhead of paying monthly rent.

The first two places she showed me weren’t what I was looking for but the last has serious potential, I promised I’d reach out to her in the next few days with a decision about making an offer. It’s a tough decision, the house is at the northern end of my price range and could benefit from some renovations, which I wouldn’t be able to afford for at least three to five years depending on how successful I am with Hugo and whether or not I manage to finish and publish my book. I needed to think about it.

After that I meandered around the city, and slowly made my way back to the hotel. I checked in and decided to give into the jet lag, taking advantage of my free afternoon and crawling into the plush bed for an afternoon nap, followed by a long hot shower before making my way over to the pub. As I push through the door at ten to seven I once again feel him before I see him and I instinctively turn to my right and find him in a secluded corner booth that we’ve occupied many times in the past. As I make my way over to him he turns to see me, standing when he does.

“Rory.” he says in greeting as he palms my bicep, pulling me in and kissing my cheek.

It occurs to me that he’s used my proper name more today than he has in the whole two years since we reconnected. I briefly wonder why that is, in college he used it sparingly, reserving it for serious or intimate situations, though I suppose this is both, whether he knows it or not. “Logan.” I respond, smiling as he pulls away. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” he says as he helps me out of my coat, hanging it over his on the hook behind his seat. “Maybe half an hour.”

“You should have called me, I’d have met you earlier.” I gently chastise him as I unwind my scarf, adding it to the hook before sliding into the booth, seating myself across from him.

He shrugs his shoulders, “I didn’t want to bother you, I figured you said seven for a reason and, contrary to popular thought, I can be patient.” he says with a grin, sipping his scotch.

I smile, “If anyone knows how patient you can be it’s me.” I tell him, “you’ve been patient with me for so long.” I’m not holding back or pulling punches, I’m done with leaving things unsaid and not speaking when the opportunity presents itself. “Logan, I've spent a lot of time thinking about us and I keep coming back to the tango club.” I tell him just as the waitress walks over soliciting my drink order. 

I ask for a tonic water and lime and ordering a plate of nachos to start, I’m starved. She turns to Logan, who is eyeing my speculatively, “I’m fine.” indicating his still half full glass, before she walks away.

“The tango club?” Logan prompts, ignoring my drink order for the time being.

“Yes, the tango club,” I say with a smile. “I asked you if you were really going to marry Odette.” 

Logan nods, “You did, and I told you it was the dynastic plan.”

I smile again, thinking back to that moment, knowing what I should have said and wishing that I had, but also knowing that I simply wasn’t ready. “You and I, Logan we have made a lot of mistakes but that conversation is among those that I regret the most, I didn’t say what I should have that night.”

“Rory, you don’t have to say it.”

“I do Logan, I do have to say it, because you deserve it and you deserve to hear it and you deserve someone who will fight for you.” I pause, evaluating his posture and demeanor.

Logan has aged gracefully and certainly matured, but I can still see the boy I knew at Yale and there is still a part of him that very few people have seen. So much of his cocky attitude and bravado in college was born of his insecurity. He was incredibly smart and business savvy, but he was always made to feel inadequate by his elders. He rarely cultivated his brilliance or any other interests outside of women and booze, because his path was set, so what did it matter? He might as well have fun while he still could.  But in the course of our relationship Logan grew, he found that if he could - and should - take pride in his accomplishments and the choices he made, that he didn’t need validation from the elder Huntzbergers. My pride and faith in him helped too, it pushed him to have faith in himself and his abilities outside of the context of the looming “dynastic plan” and with me he saw a different way to move through life, a different way to build community - outside of family - recognizing that the family you chose could be more fruitful and validating than the one you were born into, just as my mother had over thirty years ago.

When we reconnected in Hamburg, I was surprised to find him subtly and self-deprecatingly resigned to his fate as a player in the dynastic plan, and as our twisted relationship progressed and Odette became less of a supporting player, I realized that he doesn’t feel he deserves to be happy, an insecurity that I have come to realize, I had inadvertently nurtured when I told him I wasn’t ready to be engaged.

“Logan what I should have said that night was - don’t.” I say plainly as the waitress drops my drink in front of me.

His eyes widen subtly at my statement, this was not what he was expecting. If I’m being honest, that night, I should have said more, I should have said marry me instead, but now two months have gone by and I’m not sure I still have the right to. I push my drink to the side, sliding my hand across the table and stealing his away from his glass and clutching his fingers is mine. “Fuck the dynastic plan, if Odette doesn’t make you happy, don’t marry her in service of it.” I pause, squeezing his hand and drawing his gaze, “Logan, you are an wonderful person and an amazing man who deserves, as much as anyone, to be happy. And you don’t need the dynasty, the dynasty needs you. So fuck them and live the life you want to.” I finish with a giggle, sipping my tonic as the waitress returns with my nachos.

He stares back at me in stunned silence as I extract a chip, covered in cheese and avocado. As I look at him I realize that, I’m not finished, I do have one more thing to say. “I should have fought harder for you Logan.” I tell him.

“When we were in college, you were always the one fighting for me - for us really - and I never really repaid the favor or appreciated how special and important it was. And even in the last few years, you’ve always been in my corner, my biggest cheerleader and it’s meant so much to me and I don’t think I ever did for that for you, so I’m sorry. And I want you to know that from now on, I hope I can be that for you, but I also hope that you’ll find a way to fight for yourself again too. Be it with Odette or not.”

“Not.” He interrupts. His voice is strained and wobbly. 

“What?” I ask confused.

“Not with Odette. Odette and I are over.”

“What?” I ask again, surprised, confused and dare I say hopeful. “Since when?”

He looks down at his drink, and lets out a strained laugh, pulling his hand from mine and digging his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. He inhales with a snuffle before tipping his drink into his mouth, draining the remainder and setting the empty glass on the table, training his gaze on it intently.

“The day after I got back from New Hampshire.” He tells me before looking up at me.

“Logan-“ I start, surprised and hopeful and I realize that this is what he was trying to tell me this morning.

“No. Rory, it’s my turn to do the talking.” He says reaching back across the table and taking but of my hands in both of his. I nod, staying quiet. He lifts my hands to his lips and softly kisses my knuckles before he continues.

“When I left you in New Hampshire and met the guys at the diner I was devastated. Our goodbye felt so final and I couldn’t even process the idea of never seeing you again.” He stops talking and I can tell that he’s gathering both his thoughts and his composure.

“”What happened?” I gently prod, squeezing his hands as I do.

“It was Robert actually.” He starts to explain with a half hearted laugh. 

“Aw, I’ve always like Robert.” I tell him.

“Fucking Robert.” Logan shakes his head and laughs before meeting my eyes. “He reminded me of Finn’s Pulp Fiction party.”

“Oh! I remember that, you were so jealous.” I tease, offering and encouraging smile.

“It wasn’t that,” he pauses responding to my raised eyebrow, “ok, I was a little bit that, but not entirely. He reminded me that when you walked into that room you were all I saw and the only thing I wanted and you have been ever since. I’ve known Robert, Colin and Finn for a long time and each offered their perspective on the night, and other nights, but the bottom line is that none of them had ever seen me act the way I was with you and according to Robert, he was sure that was it - that you we’re it - for me. And I realized he was right then and it’s still true. 

“I wanted to run straight back to the B&B to try and catch you and if I’d missed you, race straight back to Connecticut but Colin convinced me not to. He pointed out that I needed to do this right. If I was ever going to get you back, I had to come to you, free to be with you completely. No more games, no more hiding, no more half-truths-“ 

“No more Vegas.” I whispered, feeling the tears welling in my eyes.

“No more Vegas.” He repeats. “So I came back to London and I ended things with Odette. She was exceedingly kind and understanding, we both knew our hearts weren’t in it, but she hadn’t fully realized my heart just never would be, because I hadn’t realized it either. A week later she was back in Paris. The only thing she asked of me was that I give our relationship an appropriate mourning period and I felt it was a reasonable request and it was the least I could do. But believe me when I tell you, if not for that, I’d have been on the first plane back to the states. But then a few more days passed and I started to wonder if I’d hear from you. We’d said goodbye so many times in the past and one of us always broke. I started to hope that maybe that goodbye wasn’t as final as it had felt. But then weeks passed and when the announcement that we’d split was published in the Times last month I was so sure I’d hear from you-”

“I didn’t know.” I whisper, tears falling in earnest now.

“I know that now,” he tells me, reaching up to palm my cheek and wipe my tears, “it’s okay, Ace, no more tears. After another week went by and I didn’t hear from you, I decided I’d have to go and get you back.” He paused, smiling as he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, “That was last week, and I decided I needed a bit of time to formulate a plan before I just showed up unannounced.” he continues, fidgeting with his phone as he speaks. “But I knew I had to give myself a deadline, otherwise I’d talk myself out of it, so I booked a flight.” He says simply passing me his phone.

I took it from him, confused at first, but not for long. As I looked at the screen I realized what he was showing me, his flight confirmation for British Airways flight 113, scheduled to land at JFK airport Friday evening just after seven thirty.  
  
I blink, and feel more tears roll down my cheeks. “Really?” I whisper, looking up from his phone. He really was coming to get me back, I just beat him to the punch.

“Really, Ace.” He says, flashing that playful grin as he leans across the table palming my cheek and drawing me in. “You just beat me to it.” He whispers as he closes the remaining distance and I feel the spark of his lips on mine.

It’s a chaste kiss, but it’s enough for me to realize I’m home and I never want to leave. When I taste the peatiness of scotch on the tip of his tongue it hits me how much I’ve missed him and how close I was to letting go forever and I’m overwhelmed with the emotion. I sob softly against his lips before releasing them, resting my forehead against his, holding his face to mine and watch him. Waiting for him to open his eyes. It’s a long moment before he does but when it happens, I’m ready with the words he’s been waiting a long time for me to say “I love you, Logan Huntzberger.” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

This time it’s his turn to be overcome, he smiles broadly and squeezes his eyes shut, a single tear rolling down his cheek. I move my thumb to wipe it away as he opens his eyes and whispers, “you don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back here,” I tell him, “but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.” I add leaning in to capture his lips.

Eventually he pulls away, leaning further back, but not letting go of my face, his watery eyes boor into my own. “I’m going to hold you to that, because I love you too, Rory, so much.” he tells me. “And no more apologies, we’re here and we’re together and we are going to move forward. Right?” He asks.

I smile, sitting up a little straighter, catching his hand as it falls from my face. “I hope so.” I tell him smiling excitedly.

“So, what do you say we get out of here?” He asks.

“What?” I ask, “No way, mister.” He looks at me, completely confused. “We haven’t even eaten.” I explain, I’m still starving and my barely touched, now cold nachos hold little appeal. “Mama’s hungry, and she’s been dreaming about their steak and ale pie since this morning.” I tell him excitedly, dropping the first hint that there’s more news coming his way.

He smiles and laughs, the first real full throated laugh I’ve heard from him tonight and he waves the waitress over. “Rory Gilmore referring to herself in the third person, I had no idea the situation was this critical.”

“You have no idea.” I tell him before turning to the waitress. “I’ll have the steak pie please with a side of onion rings aaaand…” I pause, turning back to Logan, “what are you having?” I ask. “And don’t say the quinoa salad.”

He laughs, glancing through the menu, “is the lemon chicken acceptable?” He asks playfully. 

I read the description, “I’ll allow it,” I tell him authoritatively, “but I will be stealing your chips.” I tell him before turning back to the waitress. “can I get a side of vegetables as well?” She nods. “Great I think that’s it.” 

“Did ya need yer drinks refilled?” She asks politely.

“I’m fine, Thank you.” I tell her, looking to Logan. 

“C’mon Ace, no celebratory cocktail? They have that fancy gin you like.” He teases with a smile, I smile back, playing coy and shake me head. “I’ll just have another Ballvenie fifteen. Thanks.”

He turns back to me as the waitress walks away. His smile is easy and his whole bearing is relaxed. “I haven’t seen you order like that in years.” he teases. “Not to mention the vegetables. Rory Gilmore what has gotten into you?” He whispers through a smile.

“You have no idea.” I tell him, seizing my chance to tease.

He looks at me more closely trying to understand my tone, “if I didn’t know better I’d say you were-“ he cuts himself off, thanking the waitress as she hands him his drink.

“I was what?” I ask, leading him on.

“Nothing.” He says shaking his head as he takes a long pull from his glass.

“Pregnant?” I supply. He puts his glass down and looks at me again, studying my features trying to find the answer. “Do you want kids, Logan?” I ask, not because I don’t know the answer, but because we never really had the conversation. “Not heirs, kids.” I clarify.

He smiles wistfully “it’s been a decade since I’ve thought about it in those terms” He says honestly before reaching across the table and taking my hands again. “But with you, Rory, I want it all.”

I smile at him again, eyes overflowing and I realize the there’s more to this hormones thing then I’m giving it credit for.

“Rory?” He questions and I can tell he’s catching on. 

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear you say that.” I tell him through gentle sobs.

“Wait-“ he stutters, “you’re really-“

I nod my head, “Eight weeks.”

“But-how?”

I giggle at him. “The usual way, we weren’t particularly careful in New Hampshire if memory serves.”

“I guess we weren’t,” he agrees, shaking his head, “wow, you’re really-“ he cuts off as he stands, coming around to my side and squeezing into the booth next to me.

He looks at me with a mixture of shock and awe as he splays his hand across my still toned abdomen. His gaze shifts to his hand on my stomach briefly before shifting back to my eyes.

“I’m really pregnant, Logan. Had the blood test and everything.” I whisper, palming his cheek and kissing him lightly on the lips. When I pull away he looks back at me, somewhat confused. “I realized it about three weeks ago and went to the doctor two weeks ago. It’s too early for a sonogram, it’s still too early to even tell anyone, really.” 

“So you haven’t told anyone?” He asks, clearly surprised. 

“I told my mom,” there’s no use in hiding it and I can tell he’s not surprised. “I’d wanted you to be the first to know, but we were sitting in the gazebo after her wedding-“

“Lorelei and Luke finally got married?” He interrupts to ask, smiling and shifting his body next to me. He stays close, moving the hand from my stomach to around my shoulders, his body angled into mine making it clear he's not moving back to the other side of the table.

“Yea, day before yesterday.” I tell him proudly. “But we were just sitting there after and it sort of slipped out.”

“Oh man, how’d she take it?”

“She was speechless.”

“Lorelei Gilmore speechless, I’d pay good money to see that.”

“It was...unsettling.” I tell him joining in his laughter. “And when I told her it was yours…” 

“Should I be on the lookout for a hit man? Pitchforks and torches?”   

“No.” I tell him, playfully bumping his shoulder. “She may not be your biggest fan right now, but she and I had a good, honest conversation about you and me and I think she’ll give you a chance next time you see her. Or at least she’ll fake it for Trey.”

“Trey?” 

“As is Lorelai the third, that’s what she’s calling our little lentil. It was that or Trip, but she figured this kids half Gilmore, calling it Trip is just plain mean” 

“Aren’t you the third Lorelei?”

“Yea, but Mom has this whole theory about the count resetting with the generation skip. Truthfully, I think she just wants to be Lorelai one.”

“Sounds about right.” He laughs. 

“Yea, you shouldn’t really be surprised at this point.” I tease him with a laugh as the waitress sets out food down and I immediately steal a fry off of his plate. 

He smiles at me “It’s been a day of surprises, Ace. I’m not sure I can help it.” he reminds me, leaning in to kiss my lips again.

We dive into our food, each sharing bites with the other chatting and laughing as we continue to fill each other in on the last two months. I learn that while his father was perturbed that all of the time spent negotiating the contracts related to Logan and Odette’s union was ultimately wasted, he didn’t particularly care that Logan wasn’t getting married to Odette. True to what he has always said, he doesn’t care to concern himself with Logan’s personal life. Logan tells me that he and his father actually had a good talk after he apologized for the wasted expense of HGM’s legal team. Mitchum explaining that he really could care less if Logan procreated, pointing out that Honor’s got three kids and one of them is bound to have at least a passing interest in the family business that could be cultivated.

Shira Huntzberger, on the other hand, ignored Logan’s initial phone call informing her that the wedding was off. Instead she packed a bag and fled to Canyon Ranch for a ten day spa retreat. When she returned she acted as if the break-up hadn’t happened, instead passing venue and vendor information for florists, musicians and caters along to both Logan and Odette, telling them that they didn’t want to lose valuable planning time while they “worked on their differences”. It wasn’t until the official notice was published that she really came to terms with the it and evidently the tantrum she threw rivaled Honor’s four year old in magnitude. Logan hasn’t spoken with her since.

As the food disappears, I feel my energy start to wane, the long emotional day is starting to catch up with me. Yawning widely I check my watch, “wow I can’t believe I’m still awake.” I observe, it’s after nine o’clock.

“Transatlantic travel will do that.” Logan says quietly, signalling the waitress to bring the check. “Or is is the baby?” he asks almost as an afterthought, wonder in in voice, “I remember Honor being really tired when she was pregnant.” he adds with a smile.

I shrug, smiling back, “could be,” I tell him, “but I haven’t really felt all that different, more likely, my nap this afternoon was insufficient to combat jetlag.”  

“What were you up to this afternoon? Not working already, are you?” He asks.

“No, I start next week.” I tell him, “I was house hunting.” I add, looking him carefully in the eyes.

His forehead wrinkles a bit as he squints to look at me. “I had to come here with a plan for myself.” I explain gently, “I had faith in you - in us - but I needed to make sure I was coming here for me, that I had a plan that wasn’t contingent on you, because I couldn’t be sure of what I’d find when I got here, or if you’d need time.”  

“I get it Ace.” He says as the waitress hands him the check. “What do you say we get out of here?” He asks, dropping a few bill on the table.

He rises and turns to me, offering me his hand and for a split second I’m back up on that scaffolding, that first time he grabbed it. I smile and slip my finger across his palm. “You know I’ve got a hotel room just down the road?” I offer playfully.

* * *

As soon as the elevator doors close, Logan’s hands are on my neck and cheeks, feeling my blush warmed skin as he leans in, capturing my lips with his. He kisses me slowly but passionately, it’s different than so many of the kisses we’ve shared, it’s hungry but unhurried and full of promise. There’s nothing fleeting about it, it’s the first kiss of the rest of our life together. I moan into his mouth as his tongue finds mine and the elevator chimes as the door opens on my floor. I’m smile as he pulls away, grasping his hand and leading him to my hotel room.

I hadn’t wanted to let him out of my sight, but I also couldn’t bring myself to go back to his flat. During so many visits over the last few years it had felt like home, but Odette moving in has ruined the illusion. Flirtatiously offering my hotel room just over the road was selfish in two ways, both allowing me to avoid the ghosts of our somewhat sordid past, but also put me closer to my goal for the evening - Logan naked in my bed - that much faster. Somewhere around the time I realized not only were we on the same page, but also that he was excited about the baby, I also realized that increased sex drive during pregnancy, like mood swings, was also not a myth and god do I want him.

I walk in ahead of him, discarding my coat over the back of a chair before sinking down onto the bench at the edge of the bed to take my boots off. He comes over, kneels in front of me and finishes undoing the laces before gently sliding them off of my feet, his hands returning to my ankles and skimming up my legs and under the pencil skirt of my tweed shift. His warm fingers caress my hips, urging me forward and up as he find the waistband of my tights and peels them from my legs. My skin tingles with the electricity of our connection and his fingers leaving contrails of heat in their wake. He kneels before me, his hands kneading their way back up my legs, over my calves and past my knees, coming to rest at my waist as he looks up at me reverently.

“What is it?” I ask softly, leaning forward to palm his cheek.

His voice is husky when he responds. “I just...I can’t believe you’re here. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this will all have been a dream.”  

I did this too him, I think as I move, hiking my skirt up to straddle his lap, needing to be closer to him, needing him to understand. I made him fearful and untrusting and I don’t know how I will ever forgive myself for it. A few stray tears trickle down my cheeks as I cradle his face in my hands. All I can do is prove to him that I’m here for good, that I’ll never leave him again unless he wants me too.

“Oh Logan, I'm here” I whisper, kissing his forehead, “I'm right here, I’m not going anywhere.” I assure him, lightly kissing his eyes and cheeks, before pressing my lips to his. His grip tightens around me and just as in the elevator, our kiss is urgent and infinite. I try to infuse it with the unspoken promise of our life together, a life that starts now, as our bodies melt into each other, undulating with the weight of our emotions. Too soon I lean back to look at him, briefly studying the dark circles and subtle redness around his still closed eye.

“Look at me.” I command quietly, the pads of my thumbs gliding across his cheek and under one eye. He follows my command, his eyes opening and immediately searching mine. “There you are.” I whisper with a smile, not breaking eye contact as I shift my body against his. “I'm right here,” I tell him, my hips shifting of their own accord, my body aching for his.

“Rory,” he whispers in a low hiss, reacting to the sensation, the friction of our bodies connecting even through his slacks.

“Shh.” I hush him, “You can see me, you can feel me,” I whisper, rocking forward and rubbing against him. I can feel his body reaching for me as I claim his lips again. I can feel his hunger for me in his kiss and in his grip on my ass and I want to give into him, but there’s still more I need to say. I pull away again, resting my forehead against his, “I'm promise you, I’m not going anywhere, I want you, I want all of you, I want to build a life with you and have babies with you. You’re my best friend, my closest confidant, my biggest supporter - my...my everything and I just want to spend the rest of my life being yours.” I pause, tears streaming down my cheeks and smile down at him. “Logan, you’re the love of my life and I don’t want to waste another second of my life without you.”

“You really mean that.” He says rhetorically, his hand has drifted to my neck as his eye bore deeply into mine.

“I really mean it.” I tell him, pulling him closer, burying my face in the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply as I pepper soft kisses along the junction of his neck and shoulder.  

He too inhales deeply before shifting his body and nudging me back. He carefully rises from his seat on the floor, stumbling briefly as the blood flow returns to his legs. He laughs at himself before he tugs my hand, pulling me up as well. Once standing, he takes the opportunity to unzip my dress, helping me out of it as I help him out of his jacket and shirt. “God, you’re beautiful.” he whispers into my mouth just before he kisses me, his strong hands drifting across my body, as he guides me onto the bed. Our tongues fight for dominance as my hands fumble blindly with his belt and pants, and his hands tangle in my hair as he toes his shoes off.

“Looogaan,” I whisper-beg, breathless as my fingers find their way into his trousers, I feel him gasp and shudder slightly as my hands caress the softest, most sensitive parts of him and he quietly murmurs my name. He pulls his head back looking into my eyes before he pushes me back and moves to shed the last of his clothing before he disappears from my field of vision.

I feel his lips on my ankle before I see him again and lose myself in the feeling of his lips in places they haven’t been in so long. After a few moments of painful anticipation I begin to wonder how much longer I can take this pace, and as that thought crosses my mind I feel his tongue flick my clit as he begins to devour me. My hands fly to his head tangling in hair as I begin to chant his name. Just as I'm about to cum he releases me, but before I have a chance to wonder at the loss, his lips are on mine and I can taste myself on his tongue.

"God, you taste so good." He says breathlessly, before capturing my lips again. I feel his cock between my legs, lying in wait.

"Oh God, Logan," I say, surprised I can still find words, as my hand skims across his back, across his hip, gently taking hold of him I feel him start. I kiss him again as I guide him, savoring the feeling of every inch of him disappearing into me, connecting us. My hand lingers between us at the spot where he ends and I begin and my mind marvels at the connection we have, a connection I tried to deny for so long.

He releases my lips, whispering in my ear. "I want to hear you scream for me." I smile at that thought and I want to scream for him as his hips rock and thrust.

"Oh god." I cry.

"Louder." he whispers as thrusts again.

"Logan," I hiss as I grab his neck and kiss him hard, hitching a leg around his waist to roll us. He knows what I'm after and wastes no time sitting up and capturing a nipple between his teeth, nibbling gently, which illicts yet another incoherent sound, this time closer to the desired volume. We stay like this for what feels like forever, or maybe time has stopped. Eventually I let go completely and sensation overwhelms me, my body feels like a live wire, every nerve ending, charged and ready to fire at the slightest provocation. The next time I hear Logan say "louder" I counter with my own request - "harder". All at once he wraps an arm around my waist and flips us, again, I am on my back and he is driving into me with a force that should hurt, but it doesn't and this time I find the volume he was looking for and I scream his name as he thrusts once more and collapses on top of me, utterly spent. After another small eternity, he shifts to move off of me, I'm half asleep, but I stop him, not ready to let go of this feeling of fullness and oneness.

"Not yet," I say as wrap my legs around his waist, keeping him still, he looks at me with a loopy smile at incredible sex hair. "I want you right here just a little bit longer." I say, grabbing his face and smoothing his hair and softly kissing his lips, he kisses me back and its more than lust and blind desire, his kiss is permanent and infinite and I feel my body responding to the emotion in it.

 

We still, the only movement in our bodies coming from our rhythmic breathing, this moment is immeasurable and immersive, it's not about gratification, but connection. My body sings for him, calling to him and we stay here, in this moment, inhaling each other deeply. There’s no urgency, no rush to finish, as we quietly clinging to each other, as close as two people can be. His lips move away from mine, kissing a path across my jaw as I run my fingers up his back, tracing the column of his spine and I feel him exhale with a sigh, causing a small shift, and I feel his body reaching for something deep inside of mine. My body suddenly ignites, as my arms tighten and and his lips return to mine, he allows no space to come between us as he writhes against me.

In recent years whenever someone has used the term 'make love' I've inwardly cringed at the hyperbolic sentimentality of that phrase. I realize now that's because it’s been so long since I've experienced it. Right here, right now Logan and I pour everything we are into the other, emotion and friction and sensation yes, but also words. As Logan makes love to me he chants my name and his love for me, telling me everything I am to him and everything he is with me, as if it’s his most sacred prayer. I can't help but reciprocate, compelled by an unknown force to bare my soul to him. I am stunned by the emotional intensity of this physical encounter and as my world shatters into a million crystalline fragments, he pours his soul into me and we consume each other.

Later, as I finally drift off to sleep, in the warm embrace of Logan's arms, skin to skin and totally sated, I realize I am truly home and I hold onto him for dear life.


	2. Twelve Weeks

**_Early December 2016 - 12 Weeks_ **

 

“Hi Jonathan, is he in?” I ask Logan’s executive assistant as I purposefully walk through towards the office door. 

Finding myself free earlier than expected - my morning interview subject having not had the breadth of information I was expecting, though the depth of the knowledge he did have certainly made up for it - I decided to surprise Logan with lunch his favorite Indian takeaway. He’s planning to meet me at the doctor’s office at two for our twelve week appointment, but when I saw that he was free after twelve-thirty, I just couldn’t resist. 

“He is Ms. Gilmore. Go right ahead.” He responds genially. “But I believe he’s on the phone.” He adds as an afterthought. 

“Thanks!” I whisper as I quietly let myself in, and his chair spins, turning to the door to see who has entered. I smile brightly, holding up my bag of food as I walk towards him and setting the food on a chair while I make some room on his desk. He smiles back at me, mouthing ‘oh my god I love you’ as he wraps up his call. 

“Ok Thomas, my next meeting just walked in - yeah I appreciate the update, let me know if there’s anything else you need from me. That’s great, talk soon.” He says, hanging up the phone. “Tell me that’s Punjab,” he says as he rises from his chair, coming around the desk to greet me properly, winding his arms around my waist. 

“Of course, only the best for my baby daddy.” I tell him wrapping my own arms around his neck. “Hi.” I whisper smiling broadly and leaning in to kiss him. 

“Hi” He says back, just before our lips meet. Our kiss is brief and tame, our newfound domestic bliss making way for a more relaxed vibe in our relationship. 

In the weeks since I came to London we’ve found a, dare I say, perfect rhythm in our life together with, it’s been comfortable and easy in ways I would scarcely have hoped for. It feels like it should have been like this all along and I can’t remember the last time I was this happy. There’s still fire and passion, but the cloud of urgency and the need to cling to fleeting moments together is gone - we have a lifetime together if we want it and it feels so good to know that. 

“I’d have planned to take you to lunch, but I thought your morning meeting was supposed to be longer.” He says as he pulls away. 

“Me too, it wasn’t quite what I expected, still hugely beneficial, but I didn’t need as much time as I thought.” I explain as I make space for us on his desk. 

“Why is that?” he asks, grabbing a stack of papers and tossing them in his briefcase.

“I was hoping for a broader overview of the implications of re-negotiating border treaties, but it turned out he was an expert on the Irish border.”

The formation of the European Union made great progress in easing the tension between the North and the Republic, finally dismantling the “hard” border and allowing people to live more peacefully alongside each other. Given the long and bloody history of unrest and oppression between the UK and Ireland the prospect of reverting to the old ways has alot of people very nervous.

“Oh, wow.” Logan responds.

“I know,” I tell him, as I lean against his desk and look at him. “I’ll have to shift the focus of my piece a bit, but a more in depth look at the on the social, economic and political ramifications of Brexit for Ireland and Northern Ireland could be really interesting, right? And it’s something people should be talking more about. I’ll need to brush up on my Irish History, understand the people’s perspective, maybe I should go there?” I ramble, asking rhetorical questions and thinking aloud. I stop myself as he smiles at me, “Anyway, when I realized I was free earlier and near Punjab, I thought I’d surprise you, I hope you’re not busy, I checked you calendar and it looked clear.” I explain, unpacking our impromptu picnic.

“Not at all. I was just about to go find myself some lunch, so perfect timing.” He tells me, leaning in to kiss the tip of my nose. “And I like where your headed with this Ireland story, you’re right, it’s a good angle, Hugo will be pumped.”

“You think? It’s not what he’s expecting.” I ask, wanting to hear his encouragement and faith in me. 

“As a fellow newspaper man, I know.” Logan teases, “Now you sit, you must be starved, what can I get you to drink? Tea, juice, water?” He asks as he moves across the room towards the small wet bar in the corner. 

“Do you have pineapple juice?” I ask, my first, and thus far only weird pregnancy craving - I couldn’t stand the stuff before.

“Of course.” He says already walking back towards me with a full glass, he knows me so well. “I figured you come here enough that I’d better keep it in stock.” he adds as he puts it down in front of me, leaning in to kiss me again before he sits down.  

“Aw, you’re so good to me.” I tell him opening the carton of veggie samosas and extracting one for myself before passing him the carton. 

“Well, you’re doing all the hard work, it’s the least I can do.” He tells me, smiling as he grabs a samosa for himself. “How are you feeling? Excited?”

“I feel good and yes, I am excited to see the baby, but I’m telling you, the big gender reveal will just confirm what I already know - it’s a girl.” I tease, before biting into my lunch, unable to suppress my moan of delight. These really are the best samosas. 

“Keep moaning like that Ace and we’re going to cut straight to dessert.” He says, setting his bottle of water on the desk before he moves his cool fingers to my knee, dragging them up towards my thigh. 

“You  know I always leave time for dessert.” I tease, leaning in.

Just as our lips are about to meet the door to Logan’s office swings open and I hear his too loud, too demanding voice before I see him. I pull away from Logan, turning to look out the windows and away from the door. Knowing my face is a mask of frustration and disappointment, I take a moment to rearrange it.  

“Dad,” Logan says, his voice tight, annoyed by the interruption as he turns to glare at his father. “Impeccable timing as always. Can I help you with something, since I know you don’t have an appointment?” He offers, cutting Mitchum off mid-sentence and making it clear in both tone and demeanor that this is an unwelcome interruption.

I turn around and see that Mitchum has the decency to look abashed, stumbling over an awkward apology as I feel my face flush, if he’d come in ten minutes later it could have been a lot worse.

“We really must remember to lock the door.” I tease, trying to ease the tension and have a bit of fun at Mitchum’s expense. “How are you Mr. Huntzberger.”

“I am sorry.” he awkwardly repeats, cleary caught completely off guard by the tableau before him. “I thought Logan was free right now. And I’ve told you before coll me Mitchum” he offers, recovering slightly. 

“Well as you can see-” Logan starts.

I squeeze his hand, and covertly glance at him, ‘ _ it’s fine’  _ I tell him silently. “It seems you and I had the same idea, Mitchum, I thought I’d surprise him with lunch.”  I explain as I rise from my seat, gathering what food I can, “I brought more than enough to share, why don’t you join us.” I add, gesturing to the small conference table in the far corner as Logan collects the remainder of the food following me.

“Yea, Dad, take a seat, can I get you something to drink?” Logan adds, following my lead, Mitchum, surprised and still somewhat thrown off, simply follows.

In the last month I’ve come to realize a few things about Mitchum Huntzberger, mainly that he isn’t an obstacle, he’s a nuisance. He truly doesn’t care at all that I’m in Logan’s life so long as the work is getting done. However, when it comes to getting the work done, he is endlessly skeptical about Logan’s management style and work ethic, and therefore, tries to meddle. It boils down to the fact that Logan is a far more collaborative leader than Mitchum tried to or could hope to be. It’s how he led working in Silicon Valley and, finding it successful, brought it with him to Huntzberger Global Media. He also takes advantage of all that 21st century technology has to offer - when it comes to staying globally connected and intensely productive - in a way Mitchum never really could be and I doubt he tried. Logan doesn’t need to be in his office to be effective so sometimes he works remotely and encourages others on his team to do the same. He is always present for HGM, though perhaps not physically so. He is also adept at delegation, letting those that work for him take the lead on projects they are interested in and passionate about, regardless of where they are on the corporate ladder, finding that building teams out of passionate people not only produces better outcomes, but also fosters a learning environment for less senior members of the HGM community, giving them room and opportunities to grow. Under Logan’s directorship, his division of HGM has been rated in the top ten places to work in the U.K. three years running. 

Because of the changes he’s made to how he runs his unit, Logan has been able to continue doing some writing of his own for their various outlets, choosing to focus on global humanitarian and geopolitical issues that are pressing, but do not adhere to a deadline. His journalistic work has been well received and, in some cases, award winning - his longform on net-neutrality was shortlisted for a Pulitzer - but Mitchum can’t help but think that if he’s still got time to write, he must be shirking his more administrative duties, which is quite simply not the case. Logan has worked hard to do this job on his own terms, in a way that makes him happy and he maintains - and fervently protects - a healthy work and life balance. With few exceptions he is out of the office by 6 and rarely takes calls after. But, if we’re being honest, the only person who regularly calls after six is Mitchum. 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Mitchum responds as we settle at the table. 

“Then I feel obliged to tell you I’m only drinking water.” Logan says with a smile, reaching for a rocks glass. In solidarity with me Logan has curtailed his drinking, which while sweet, is unnecessary, especially during an unplanned lunch with his father. I’d kill for a scotch right about now.

“That’s fine.” Mitchum says, surprising us both. “Maybe with a bourbon sidecar? Blanton’s if you have it.” He adds with a smirk. That makes more sense. 

Logan and I share a look as he delivers Mitchum’s drinks and settles into the seat next to me. The three of us dig in and make pleasant conversation, we talk mostly about the news of the day - Donald Trump is already making a mess of things and he’s not even in office yet - because Mitchum refuses to talk shop with me present, citing that I work for the enemy, which is just as well, I’d rather keep things familial. Logan and I want to build a life and a home for our growing family that doesn’t revolve around HGM. Dinner table conversation related to how everyone’s days were and what’s going on in the world - not what’s going on in Daddy’s office. It’s best we start training Mitchum now. 

As we chat it occurs to me the Mitchum is becoming a dinosaur, he’s approaching retirement - most likely sooner than he’d planned, though Logan would like to see him keep at it for another five to ten years - from an industry in which he is considered a titan, but that he no longer really recognizes, even if it’s the only thing he knows. I suspect his inevitable obsolescence is a driving force behind his need to interfere, while most would look forward to retirement and having the free time to pursue interests and hobbies, I can’t exactly picture he and Shira enjoying their golden years together and he doesn’t have many hobbies. So, if he doesn’t have work, what does he have?

Eventually conversation moves to the upcoming Christmas Holiday. We’ve invited our families to join us in London and Mom, Luke, Grandma, Honor, Josh and their three kids are coming, as well as Colin and Stephanie, Finn, and Paris - since Doyle has the kids for Christmas. Shira gave Logan a vague excuse about being committed elsewhere and unsure if she could break those plans when they spoke briefly last week and hasn’t replied to any of the emails I’ve sent her. It’s just as well, this year I want to be around people that love and support us, that will be happy when we tell them we’re having a baby. Well, and Paris.

“You know if you find yourself on this side of the pond, you’re more than welcome to come without Mom.” Logan says after Mitchum mentions a litany on end-of-year meetings as a hindrance to making holiday plans. “Honor and the kids will be here through New Years.” he points out gently reminding his father that neither his kids nor his grandkids will be in Connecticut.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mitchum says, noncommittally, “and I’ll talk to your mother.”

I sense Logan’s frustration before he even reacts, slipping my hand into his a he exhales loudly, shaking his head, “whatever you need to do, Dad.” he says trying - and failing - to keep the frustration out of his voice. 

“Logan,” Mitchum says, equally frustrated, “she is still your mother, don’t you think this feud has gone on long enough?” 

“I do, Dad.” He says, “I do think this has gone on long enough. I’m an adult, with my own life and goals and responsibilities. If she wants to be a part of my life, a part of our life,” he says looking at me and squeezing my hand, “she needs to respect the choices I’ve made, because I just don’t the time or the space for her childish antics.”  He finishes, glancing at his watch and turning to me, “what do you think, leave in fifteen minutes?” he asks.

“Sounds good to me,” I tell him, poorly hiding the excitement in my voice. “If you’ll both excuse me, I just need to freshen up.” I tell both Huntzberger men as I rise from the table. 

“Not to throw you out, but we’re headed out shortly for an appointment.” Logan says as I walk into the bathroom attached to his office. 

“I noticed you had an open afternoon, anything I should know about?” Mitchum responds. 

“No.” Logan responds, “we need to make some decisions about bathroom fixtures for the house and sit down with the contractor.” He tells Mitchum leaving out our doctor’s appointment beforehand. 

“Ah.” Mitchum hums skeptically, “and that’s going well?”

“More or less,” Logan says as I wash my hands. “They’re not going to hit the dust free date,” that’s news to me, “but other than that it’s going well.” I hear him tell Mitchum as I extract the small cosmetics bag I’ve stashed here for emergency touch-ups. 

“Well you know what they say, you hope for quality work, delivered on time and within budget, but you’re lucky if you get two out of three.” Mitchum offers with a laugh, as I hear his chair slid back across the floor and the tinkle of the ice in his glass as he tips it back. 

“So it seems,” Logan says and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Right now I’d say all we can expect is quality work.”

“You seem happy Logan, I forgot how well the two of you fit.” 

“I am happy Dad, I’m glad you can see it.” I hear Logan respond.    
  
“Logan, I know we’ve always had our differences, but I always hoped you’d find someone to share your life with. You’re the future of HPG, I knew that when I went to California, and asked you to come back into the fold. But this life can be lonely, and clandestine relationships with untrustworthy women, only briefly fill that void, believe me I know that better than anybody.” I can’t help but wince at his cavalier admission to his philandering ways, glad I’m not a part of this conversation and feeling bad that Logan is. “But Ms. Gilmore, she’s the whole package and I think she’ll keep you on your toes.” Mitchum says. 

“Wow,” I hear Logan say after a beat too long, “Dad, I don’t know what to say, thank you?” He responds and I can hear the discomfort in his tone of voice. 

“You’re a lucky man, son. Your mother will come around.” Mitchum adds.

“I know I’m lucky and you know I’m really not waiting for her to ‘come around’, I don’t need her approval. I know this is right for me, I’m building a life with Rory.” 

“I know you don’t, son. Perhaps what I should have said it that I hope, for her sake, your mother comes around soon, otherwise I have a feeling she’ll just miss out.” Mitchum clarifies.

It’s nice to hear that Mitchum recognizes that this isn’t a fight they can win, if a one sided battle can even be considered a fight. I think as I brush my teeth, missing a few beats in their conversation as I do.  

“Now the big question is when are you going to get her to come work for you.” Mitchum asks. 

“Not anytime soon.” Logan answers and I can hear a chuckle in his tone of voice, “But she knows the offers on the table and I hope she’ll eventually take me up on it.” 

I smile as I examine my reflection, Logan’s got a whole plan cooked up for how we’ll take over HGM, and the directions we could take the business if we acted as a team. It’s a beautiful vision and someday it’ll come to fruition, but I like where I am and what I’m doing. It’s just demanding enough to keep me engaged but not so much so that I don’t have time to work on my book and and get settled. And while I want to keep working after the baby is born, I also want to be present for the early years of her (or his) life and I want the chance to give her (or him) a sibling or two. For those reasons I can’t see myself getting swept up in HGM just yet, for the time being I think it’s best to keep our families interests a bit more diversified and Logan supports that completely. 

I step back, smoothing my clothes before exiting the bathroom, my hand stopping to rest over the firm swell of my stomach. It’s not noticeable yet to the casual observer, but Logan insists, as a devoted disciple of my body, that I’m starting to show. He noticed it over the weekend, as he was mapping my body with his lips and, unable to contain his excitement, dragged me out of bed in order to snap a picture. I smile at the memory, before rejoining the men.

“Think about Christmas,” Logan tells Mitchum as I walk out of the bathroom. “You don’t have to be a part of that, you can do what’s right for you.” He adds, a reference to a part of their talk that I didn’t catch.

  
“He’s right, Mitchum,“ I chime in, walking towards Logan who is holding my coat, “But, if you come, and I hope that you do, there will be absolutely no work from six pm on December twenty-second to nine am on December twenty-seventh, no exceptions, no excuses.” I tell him, my tone light, but my words firm as I shrug into my coat, Logan gently gathering my hair and pulling it up over the collar. 

Mitchum looks a bit stunned and about ready to argue “I wouldn’t,” Logan tells him, herding us towards the door. “I already talked her down from December twenty second through January first.” He explains, passing me my purse and kissing the side of my head. “Ready?” He asks me. 

“Mmhmm.” I hum, turning to Mitchum, “It was good to see you, maybe we’ll see you in a few weeks?”

“I’ll see what I can do and let Logan know, it would be nice to see my grandkids at Christmas.”

“That’s the spirit!” I say, encouragingly. 

“It was good to see you too, Rory. It looks like London is agreeing with you. Enjoy your afternoon kids.” He tells us as we head towards the elevator and he stops to talk to Jonathan. 

As the doors open on the ground floor, Logan’s phone chimes with an incoming alert.

“Would you look at that.” He says, clearly surprised by whatever he’s reading. 

“Hmm?” I hum, as we walk towards the exit and I pull on my gloves. 

“Mitchum actually made an appointment with me.” He says, “Day after tomorrow, to talk about year end budget reconciliation and fiscal year eighteen goal setting. This is a first, Ace and I’m pretty sure you’re to thank.” 

I shrug, smiling at him as I grab his hand a pull him through the door, “like you said, we’re building a life together, I just think it’s best we help him learn now, how he fits into it.” 

He stops, pulling me into his arms and kissing me on lips. “I love the way you think, Rory Gilmore.” He says quietly. 

“I love the way you love me, Logan Huntzberger.” I respond, leaning into kiss him again. “Now let’s go see our baby!”

 

* * *

 

“I told you.” I say, smugly teasing Logan as he intently studies the latest sonogram image.  

“Another Gilmore girl,” he says wistfully, as he looks up to meet my eyes, “I’m not sure the world can handle it, I’m not sure I can.” he teases, with a wide smile and bright eyes.

I hope she has his eyes.

I smile at him “No, she’ll be a Huntzberger girl, you know how to handle them.” I gently correct.

He looks at me, vague confusion dancing across his features. “She’s a part of us both Logan, and she’ll already have my first name, so she should have your last name. Lorelei Huntzberger.” I explain. Having thought a lot about what my child’s name should be, it never occured to me that he’d just assume our baby would be a Gilmore. 

He smiles at me, his eyes radiating happiness as he says “Lorelei Emily Huntzberger” and I love it. 

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I slide my fingers into the hand holding the picture, adjusting it so that I can see her too, Lorelei Emily Huntzberger, “Emmy”. I whisper, giving her a nickname. “I love that.” I say laughing through may tears of happiness. 

“Emmy Huntzberger.” he says, trying it out, letting it roll off his tongue, wrapped in his velvety voice. “I love it too.”


	3. Seventeen Weeks

**_Mid-January 2017 - 17 Weeks_ **

 

I wake in the wee hours of the morning, ensconced in the warm protection of Logan’s arms. Whether consciously or not his arms tighten as I try to move. I smile into the darkness, wiggling free and dashing quickly to the bathroom and back, hoping the chill in the air doesn't seep into my skin. In my brief absence, he has rolled onto his back, arm across his forehead, the covers slipping down to his stomach, exposing his bare chest. The cold night doesn't seem to bother him, but then again London’s cool dampness never has.

I crawl back into bed, noting the mismatched sheets, as I gather the random assortment of blankets that he’d managed to pull together up and around my body and snuggle back into Logan’s side. I wonder where he found the quilt from my old bed in Stars Hollow. Had I packed that? Had my mother sent it? I smile at the thought of Logan knowing I’d be cold and rummaging through boxes for extra blankets after putting me to bed, exhausted from a day spent directing movers and unpacking boxes, followed by an evening spent christening the kitchen and then the living room. Avoiding doing more unpacking, because I can’t seem to get enough of him, or he me, I’d like to blame pregnancy, but I’m not sure that’s entirely fair. I pull the covers up around both of us and lay my head on his shoulder, sensing my presence, his arm comes down across my back. His skin is, as always, warm to the touch and I breathe a sigh of contentment as my fingers skim gently over his torso before my hand comes to rest in the hollow of his chest. I lay there, unseeing in the darkness, feeling the the rise and fall of his breathing, and listening to the slow and steady throb of his heartbeat, struck again by how good it feels to be spending our first night in our new home. The almost-perfect town house I saw my first day in London that Logan and I were able to make ours.

The rhythm of my breathing begins to match his and just as I start drifting back to sleep I feel Logan shift and roll onto his side, facing me. Even in the dark, he’s close enough that I can make out his features, eyes closed, totally relaxed in a dreamless sleep. I lift my hand to his forehead to push away a stray lock of hair and I can't help myself - I want him again. I caress his cheek and fix my lips to his, kissing him softly until I feel him start to respond and I press my body closer to his, twining our legs together. He opens his mouth just enough for me to deepen our kiss, our tongues fighting for dominance as my own body responds to our closeness.

We writhe in bed, I'm not even sure he's entirely awake at first, as we make out like teenagers. I’m reminded of the early days of our exclusive relationship and the intimacy we discovered after he decided he couldn’t handle losing me, but instead, that he could handle being my boyfriend. When we went from hooking up to so much more, and innocent kisses would melt into whole afternoons in bed. I feel awareness begin to percolate in his body as his hands begin to move more boldly, he uses one to hold me to him, and the other roams; down my back, finding the hem of my nightgown - that I don’t actually remember putting on - and following the curve of my thigh underneath it. As the thin fabric slides aside his strong hand squeezes my thigh as he hitches my leg over his waist, granting him full access. I moan in pleasure and gently nibble his lower lip as his fingers tease my entrance and my hips involuntarily rock into him, drawn towards the source of pleasure, he takes full advantage of my movement, whispering my name as he slowly enters me, rolling me onto my back and sheathing himself fully. Overwhelmed by our sudden connection, I let out a gasp of surprise and satiation that is quickly stifled by his mouth. He kisses me passionately, hands squeezing my waist, thumbs caressing my barely there bump, as he slowly rocks his hips back before thrusting deeply, my breathing catches and I gasp, again and again as Logan makes my body sing, my heart rate quicken and my blood boil. He frees my mouth, lips traveling across my jawline, pausing to whisper barely audible, beautiful words, before continuing down my neck, never breaking rhythm. "Oh god, Logan!" I whisper as I dig my fingers into his back urging him on as I feel the telltale tingling in my legs and I tumble over the edge, keening his name.

All at once, in a maneuver I’m too delirious to follow, my nightgown is gone and I am on top, my hands find their way to his chest and I dutifully maintain our perfect rhythm. I look into his eye as I feel the aftershocks of my first orgasm giving way to the beginnings of my second. He looks almost predatory as his hands move up my thighs, past my waist to my breasts before one hooks around my neck, in an attempt to pull me down to him but I don't let him. Instead I pull him up into a seated position, careful not to break our connection as I arrange myself in his lap, finding the perfect angle. His hands tangle in my hair as he devours my lips and neck, my collarbone and breasts. When I feel the first tremor ripple through his body and into mine, I wrap my legs tighter, slowing the pace, only slightly, as my muscles constrict. I run my fingers through his hair finding his lips again as I feel the waves crest and crash within us.

After, we collapse, tangled and tired and as I start to drift off to sleep I feel the fleeting warmth of Logan's lips on the tip of my nose, I smile. “I love you,” I sigh in a breathy whisper “I can’t believe we’re finally here, in our home, I can’t tell you how happy it makes me, to finally be Home.” I add, tenderly pressing my lips to his before rolling onto my back. He follows, curling his body around me, head on my pillow, his nose in my hair as his lips trace the shell of my ear. His hand settles across my swollen stomach and he whispers "Marry me Rory".

The way he says it, it’s not a question, but a statement, there is certainty in his voice, because this is right and we both know it. So, while I should have been expecting it, it catches me off guard. I realize somewhere in the recesses of my mind I’d wondered if he’d ever ask again or if I’d missed my chance to be his wife, if he’d ever trust me enough to carry his name.

Before I have a chance to answer a sob escapes my lips as hot and heavy tears well in my eyes. I turn to look at him, one hand caressing his cheek while the other covers his hand on my belly. His gaze is intense, his eyes now boring into mine, “I’d love to” I whisper in response before capturing his lips. I smile into our kiss and I feel a flutter in my stomach, I imagine it’s our daughter’s excitement and something akin to a laugh escapes through my happy sobs as my hand tightens over his, knowing he can’t feel her yet, but wishing he could.

“Yea?!” He asks, when he pulls away, a smile lighting up his face in the dark.

I smile back, happy tears streaming down my face as I nod frantically, gathering my voice, “Yea,” I tell him, “I really want to be your wife.” I tell him, because it’s the truth. It took me a decade formulate my own opinions of marriage, to realize that marriage didn’t have to be a bad thing, that I didn’t have to sacrifice my identity or values to be someone’s wife, that I could be an equal partner.

Or maybe it took me a decade to become the woman I needed and wanted to be before I was ready for marriage.

Or maybe it was just...Logan, because it was always supposed to be Logan.

But however it happened, I got here and I’m ready. 

“Well that’s good news, cause I really want to be your husband.” He tells me ardently.

“Yea?” I ask, my turn for disbelief.

“Yea, Ace. For something like 12 years now.” he says smiling broadly and leaning in to capture my lips.

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, I feel Logan shift slightly under me. “Hey Ace,” he whispers sweetly.

“Hmmm,” I hum, not moving, content to lay here cuddled together, listening to his heartbeat, forever.

“It’s snowing.” He says, smile evident in the cadence of his voice.

I open my eyes and turn my head enough to follow his gaze to the still undressed windows - briefly cursing my pregnancy addled brain for failing to remember to put the curtains up yesterday - and see big fluffy clumps of the white stuff drifting gracefully past the glass. The first snow of the season. “So it is.” I say, smiling as I feel the baby flutter again and it feels like an omen on this auspicious night. A good omen.

“Come on.” he says, moving out from under me and pulling me towards him.

“Logan, what?” I start, “where are we going?” I whine as he pulls me out of bed.

He quickly extracts a few items of clothing from a box in the corner, tossing on an old Yale sweatshirt before he wraps me in his bathrobe and drops my slippers at my feet. I stuff my feet into them, and roll up the robe’s sleeves as he slips into sweatpants before grabbing my hand again and pulling me towards the door to the terrace.

I shiver as the cold air hits us when we open the door, but I am entranced by the snow and the chill does little to deter me. “I’ll grab a blanket.” He whispers, barely audible in his bid not to disturb the peace of the snowy night, as he gently pushes me outside.

I breathe deeply, enjoying the fresh smell and the feel of the icy air rushing into my lungs. Moments later, I feel him come up behind me, draping a heavy wool blanket over my shoulders and wrapping his arms around me, pulling me in close. I lean back, resting my head against his shoulder and smile as I feel the scratchy wool tickle my earlobes and remember our trip to Scotland last year.

I’d insisted we go to the birthplace of his favorite libation to celebrate his thirty-fifth birthday and then insisted he buy this ridiculous tartan blanket after borrowing a similar one from the innkeeper one evening. It was just so warm and cozy. Until recently, it was mostly relegated to the hall closet in his flat - Odette thought it was ‘horrid’ - but in our new life together it’s found a home on the couch. Logan has often come home from work to find me curled up underneath it, so it should come as no surprise that he knew exactly where to find it among the still packed boxes containing our worldly possessions. I smile at that thought and turn my head, inhaling deeply as I nuzzle his neck and kiss his jaw before turning back to take in this winter tableau.

The world around us is silent as the snow covers the frozen earth in a crisp blanket of pure white, casting a glow and lightening what would have otherwise been a dark night. It’s too early for any kind of activity and the landscape has the surreal, unspoiled quality of one of Monet’s underappreciated snowscapes.

“You amaze me, Rory Gilmore.” He whispers in my ear, breaking my revery. “Everyday, everything that you do, everything that you are.” He continues and I realize I’ve heard these words before, from a nervous boy in a room full of strangers. “This past year I learned that I may not know as much as I thought I did, but I do know that I love you, that I will always love you, that I want to be with you forever. Because, I am never as happy as I am when I’m with you, because you light up my world Rory Gilmore.” His voice is thick with emotions as he loosens his hold on my body, extracting one hand so that I can see his fingers.

In his fingers I find the most unexpected thing - I gasp, covering my mouth as turn in his arms, needing to see him. Gone is the nervous boy, excitedly and impulsively asking a question it was too soon to ask in all of the wrong ways. Before me is a strong and confident man, who knows what he wants and is unafraid to ask for it, saying all of the right things and holding - “Is that?” I ask still not believing my eyes.

“It is.” he says, smiling as he slips it onto my left hand. “You’re it for me Rory, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me and I am so grateful that I’m going to be your husband and create a family with you, that I get to build a life and share it with you.”

It’s a perfect fit.

“But how?” I ask unable to take my eyes off of the diamond ring on my finger.

“When they were here at Christmas, I pulled Lorelai and Emily aside and informed them of my intentions. Nothing too specific, just that I wasn’t letting you go again and that I’m not walking away, we belong together, whether we had the legal documentation or not. A few days later, when you were out with Lorelai and Honor looking at furniture, Emily asked me to take her to tea at the Savoy. I thought it was odd too,” he explains, no doubt responding to the look on my face, “but she was insistent and who was I to say no to Emily Gilmore. She politely told me I ‘should reconsider my stance on the legal documents’ among other things and then she put this worn ring box on the table. At first I was a little offended, I’ll be honest,” he laughs, his bright smile crinkling his eyes. “But as soon as I opened the box I knew it was vintage and I knew it had a story.

“She told me that she and Richard had always wanted you to have it,” he continued with a smile. “That she was secretly relieved that you hadn’t said yes to the, I believe she said ‘garish bauble’, I’d offered in you in college, because they had wanted to offer me this when the time was right. Though she also assured me that while she was glad that day, she’d never thought it would take this long for me to ask you again.”

“That sounds like Emily Gilmore.” I say, laughing, despite the tears in my eyes as I looked at my grandma’s ring - my ring! - the same ring that Grampa had used when he asked her to marry him.

For the briefest moment I wonder if this ring would have changed my mind all those years ago, representing, as it does, familial support that I hadn’t been sure about back then - the look on my mother’s face haunted me for years after. But it occurs to me this ring represents so much more. Grandpa chose this ring for Grandma, when his parents decided not to support his choice of bride, instead, urging him to follow their plan for him, marry the woman they had selected - the Gilmore’s own dynastic plan. But instead, Grandpa followed his heart, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I redirect my gaze to Logan, fixing my eyes on his bottomless brown ones as he cups my cheek, wiping away my tears with the pad of his thumb. I lean in to kiss him, trying to infuse this kiss with everything I’m feeling, wonder and promise, happiness and hope, and love, so much love. “You’re it for me too Logan Huntzberger,” I whisper, pulling back only enough to free my words. “and I am so happy and so grateful that I’m going to be your wife and the mother of our children and that I get to be your partner in this beautiful life of ours.”

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this will continue and if it does it won’t adhere to a narrative structure, it'll be more of a collection on oneshots. I already a few ideas rolling around in my head for other moments in the lives of these two, but if you have ideas for moments you'd like to read, let me know, maybe I'd like to write them.


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